A cozy yet eerie little tavern; a scene of cooking that was chaotic yet orderly.
"When will it end?" Luge said.
The fire man looked at the dish in his hands and understood what he meant. "I want to satisfy them all, but clearly that's impossible. They're very much in keeping with this city's character—they're never satisfied. So we need to leave before the ball begins, because once the ball ends, it means that little chrysalis worm-person has nearly completed the succession rite and become the City Lord here... By then no one will be able to leave easily, and they may even fall under his control..."
"However... don't be impatient... There are still other steps before the ball, all arranged by that wizard lord. I don't know much, but at least there's still a gladiator arena..." As he spoke, the fire man brought out a new dish that looked ordinary but gave off a pungent, nose-stinging sourness.
Luge had to cover his nose with his hand.
So the little crybaby worm-person's succession was no secret. Among these high-tier apprentices, it seemed most of them knew roughly what would happen after entering the city; it was just that that detestable Revealing the Secrets Handbook had never mentioned any of it at all, Luge thought.
Just knowing this much was enough—he could completely treat these high-tier apprentice wizards as an alarm clock.
Luge suddenly felt that helping out in the kitchen here wasn't bad either. Judging from what the fire man meant during their talk, gaining knowledge and insight this way was a relatively safe state. Though Luge was a kitchen hand of little real use, he could at least now and then steal a sip of the splashed-out soup.
Dish after dish was turned out by the two of them working together.
With a look of concentration, Luge plucked the feathers off some creature he didn't recognize.
"Can I use Hair Removal? I've learned that spell," Luge said.
"Better not," the fire man advised, as head chef. "Fine food takes heart—you have to comprehend it, to feel it. And doing that might leave behind traces of spellcraft too faint to notice."
Luge rolled his eyes, but thought the fire man made a great deal of sense.
Looking at the creature—now plucked bare and split in two—Luge couldn't help thinking of Half-Man. He quietly glanced at the busy head chef beside him.
"Do you know Kaliu?"
"Of course. Not well, though."
"What kind of person is he?"
"Well, he's an odd fellow, like Baonte, only more flamboyant than Baonte—somewhat mean, arrogant, intensely jealous. He failed twice trying to advance to formal wizard, so his life source must be badly damaged, yet he still keeps himself looking twenty. Standing beside Baonte, he looks like his nephew... Sometimes I even wonder how those two ever became friends..." the fire man said.
Another dish drew a burst of indistinct exclamations from the diners whose faces couldn't be made out.
Luge felt he'd gained some new understanding of Fetid Skin. For a moment an urge rose in him to try reworking the spell, but reason told him he was still far from that.
The black meat roll in the chef's hands sizzled, wrapped around something Luge didn't recognize—something nauseating that even a kobold couldn't stomach.
But he no longer had any mind to be nauseated. The Kaliu described by the chef was far from the one in his mind, and that already blurry figure could no longer be matched up with Half-Man.
"Baonte is actually quite old too. It's his own strong foundation as a knight that makes him—who pays no mind to his looks—seem not that old. Kaliu is the same, only worse. After going through two failures, he should have only one last chance left..."
"So that's why you didn't compete with them for it?"
"Not entirely. Take the skin and roots off here... But you could put it that way. They're no longer willing to let go of anything that can bring them hope. Baonte is probably in this city's palace of knowledge right now, risking an attempt to carry a wordless book off a shelf. The commission from Wizard Niteli—he's set on completing that too. He won't give up on any chance..."
The chef spoke slowly and leisurely, yet his hands moved cleanly and deftly, showing off his superb skill, and the five dishes being cooked together were finished almost at the same moment.
Creak, creak!
The tavern's two doors swung back and forth again for a new guest's arrival.
This time it was a city patron whose face couldn't be made out—huge of build, his shoulders broader than Luge was tall.
The fire man's expression flickered, his hands speeding up, and an extra-large plate was brought out. Bang, bang! The guest began pounding on the table. The bartender nearby hurried over with a large cup of liquor and got him to settle down for the time being.
Sensing something was wrong with the atmosphere, Luge worked more nimbly, helping to handle a creature with triangular bones and draw out the gelatinous matter inside them. Through this barely coordinated flurry of work, the dishes still weren't done when the pounding on the other side started up again.
The booming sound made Luge's footing stagger.
"There's a back door to the tavern over there. You'd best leave quickly. Of course, you could also risk staying—you might get something out of it," the fire man said with a smile.
Bang, bang!
Another round of pounding, and Luge felt even his mental-power space trembling.
He had no time to sigh. Grabbing the corner of a table for support, he rushed toward the back door.
Only after the tavern's back door had shut completely behind him did he finally pull out of that state.
Suddenly the light shifted, and the whole city seemed to have sunk into dusk. From somewhere far off, the chime of a time-keeping bell rang out, but he couldn't make out exactly how many strikes it made.
Luge stood in the alley behind the tavern, looking at the handsome young man before him, and for a moment it all felt somehow unbelievable.
"You're Kaliu?" Luge said.
From the moment Luge had first learned that Half-Man existed, the fellow had truly never once told him his own name.
Half-Man smiled without a word, the smile still conveyed through fluctuations of mental power—clearly his face still couldn't move freely at the moment.
"I've come to keep my promise and get you the pureblood potion," Half-Man said.
"Bull's Strength, a slightly modified Air Armor, Lesser Ake's Repulsion, Body Lightening, Demonskin, and a disassembled, reworked Stone Fist. He usually picks five of these six spells to store in his temporary spell slots. His solidified spell is Colossal Strength, and his own knightly cultivation is a method called Ice Bear Breathing..." Half-Man said slowly. "The disassembly of Stone Fist took up most of his apprenticeship. From what I've observed, even after being disassembled, the spell model still needs him to use other spells to support it. He found a stone-back beast and uses its back hide together with Demonskin to wrap his fist—only then can he be sure the spell will succeed."
The moment they met, Half-Man had begun chattering away about one inexplicable thing after another. Though his mouth couldn't move at all, he was as talkative as a chatterbox.
Luge caught on halfway through listening and abruptly flung the small sphere in his hand.
The small ball rolled along to Half-Man's feet, then burst open without a sound. A red ripple shot straight to the sky and vanished in an instant.
"It's useless. He's already set his sights on you. While you were soaking in the spirit spring, he'd already seen the book in your hands. The Demonic Mark Meditation Method is one of the rare exclusive meditation methods—every rune in it is different from those of other meditation methods, belonging to it alone. Someone who can get started on it will, at least before advancing to formal wizard, have a much smoother path than practitioners of other meditation methods, and those exclusive runes will make it easier for you to advance to formal wizard as well. Once a second practitioner appears, the runes are no longer exclusive, and their effect will weaken greatly..."
Half-Man said this calmly.
Luge, however, was even calmer than he was. He thought of an unusual succubus he knew. He would not reproach Half-Man, nor could he feel grateful to him, yet there was indeed a fire pent up in his chest—because if he were put through it all again, he would still pick up the Black Codex, and even if he were told the whole story, he would still surely choose to practice the Demonic Mark Meditation Method from the Black Codex. At that time, everything had been the best choice.
Chapter 75